The Passenger by Jacqueline Druga (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

being here. The accident victim formally known as Harold, now known as Chip is being released from the hospital as we speak.”

“We know,” Haley said. “Marge stopped by to get some clothes from the stash for the bazaar. She wanted to launder them. Is she getting him?”

“Yes, she is there now,” Russ answered.

“Any luck with his identity?” Pastor Rick asked.

“None. I’m waiting to hear back from Harold, no return call yet. I checked all missing person data bases. Nothing. Call it a hunch. A father’s hunch, but I think that young man may be bad news, and no one really wants to find him. At least, no one is looking for him right now. Not according to the national database.”

“Doesn’t that lag behind?” asked Pastor Rick.

“The national one, yeah. I reached out to Kansas State PD and Missouri. Since the car was from Kansas he has to be from that area.”

“You would think,” said Pastor Rick.

Haley shook her head. “This is so sad. What’s gonna happen with him?”

“I talked to Amanda, the manager at the Hotel Six,” Russ replied. “She said she’ll give him a room. That won’t help him eat or health wise. Truth is, he still doesn’t know who he is. We don’t know who he is. He is in our town. I can’t help but feel a sense of responsibility. This town is like a big family. I'm not comfortable with the idea he is out there, lost in himself, no means to eat. You know. So, I was hoping Pastor you might, through the church, know of an organization. A shelter maybe, a place we could send him to find his way.”

Pastor Rick nodded. “I do. I know exactly where he can go.” He looked at Russ then Haley. “He survived that crash and ended up in our town. There’s a reason for it. I think he should come here.”

“Here?” Haley asked. “Dad. No.”

“Why?”

“He’s not that nice.”

“Maybe that’ll change,” Pastor Rick said. “I haven’t heard Marge say a bad thing about him.”

“Maw-Maw wouldn’t say a mean thing about anyone,” Haley replied.

“You sure Pastor?” Russ asked.

“Absolutely.” Pastor Rick nodded again. “We have that posting for a part time groundskeeper. I have that room. He can stay with me, work the church for his room and board. I am very sure.”

Arms folded tightly, Haley exhaled and looked at the both of them. “I know what you guys are doing. And don’t …” She waved out her hand. “Don’t say ‘the right thing or the Christian thing’, this goes beyond that. It’s personal. You know it, I know it. Just remember, trying to save this lost soul is not going to make up for the lost soul you couldn’t save.”

“You’re right. But we can try, can’t we?” Pastor Rick leaned forward and kissed his daughter on the forehead. “We can try.”

◆◆◆

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Marge had seen him and what a difference that time had made in the young man she called Chip. He sat on a bench in the small hospital park. A bag of belongings on his lap. Probably the ones she dropped off for him. He wore blue jeans and a crisp white tee shirt. His face was still very bruised, but the swelling had gone down, and his hair was shorter. Very short, parted on the side with a little flip added to the front like the boy bands used to do. He looked … clean cut.

Carrying a takeout container, Marge walked to him. “Look at you. Betty, the hospital beautician, got her hands on someone today.”

“Doc Jenner said it was a fresh look for a fresh start.”

“And you agreed?” Marge asked.

He nodded, running his hand over the top of his hair.

“I like it.”

“It’s not me.”

“We don’t know that,” Marge said. “Hey, it matches the name Chip.” She handed him the container. “For you.”

“Food?” He lifted the lid. “Wow, Nachos, thank you. You always bring me food. Ann said I gained six pounds this week.”

“Yep, fourteen more will make me happy. Eat.”

He dipped into his snack.

“Chief Russ tells me you declined a fingerprint search. Can I ask why?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I um … well, if I match that means I have a record.”

“Okay.”

“Chances are, I probably do. I mean, someone drugged me, at least it's what Doc Jenner said. So, I probably did something to make someone mad.”

“People do things and don’t need a reason. You don’t know,” she said.

“One of those feelings.” He glanced up at her, then looked down to his food. “I just … it may sound strange to you, but I want to try to have my memory come back and know who I am rather than someone tell me, and I have to make myself fit the narrative. Like I tried to do when they said I was Harold.”

Marge nodded. “I see. I can tell you one thing about yourself. You’re intelligent. No one says ‘fits the narrative’ unless they’re a writer or big reader. But declining the fingerprints is your choice and I think you have the right attitude.”

“I was thinking of giving myself a time frame.”

“You can do that,” she said. “Or see what happens. Up to you. How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Any memories?”

“I get feelings. Like I told you about. Feelings about things I like or want.”

“Like what?” Marge asked.

“I think I was a smoker. I keep feeling like I want a cigarette. And pot roast. It’s like I feel like pot roast is something I like.”

“Well, lucky you, Pot Roast is my Sunday supper.”

“There you go feeding me again.”

Marge laughed. “That’s just me. We can go on these feelings. They have to be helpful. Still, no memories?

“Of my life? No.” He shook his head. “But of that night I do, I still see his face.”

“David’s?”

“Yes. His face telling me, ‘I got you’. Do you think he’s dead?”

“I don’t know. There are some folks who don’t think a man was in the car with you.”

“Like I’m nuts.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not nuts. Don’t use